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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27169732">Respite</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/SwornSword/pseuds/SwornSword'>SwornSword</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Divinity: Original Sin (Video Games)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Canon Compliant, Epilogue, Established Relationship, F/M, Porn with Feelings, Post-Canon, Post-War</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-10-24</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-10-24</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-07 01:21:19</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>3,333</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27169732</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/SwornSword/pseuds/SwornSword</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Following your final confrontation with Dallis and an extended conflict with the Godking, you and Ifan take a much needed sojourn at a cabin in the woods and have an important conversation. Contains spoilers for Ifan's storyline, and one of the possible game endings.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Ifan ben-Mezd/Female Godwoken, Ifan ben-Mezd/Reader</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>8</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>67</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Respite</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Assumes the "one for all" game ending. Enjoy!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>You shake the water off your cloak as you step under the protection of the overhang, laughing to yourself. You can’t help it; that rain came out of nowhere, and now you’re soaked to the bone. You’re standing on the sturdy wooden porch of a cabin that looks like it's seen a thousand rainstorms, and hasn’t given an inch yet. You hear a clattering of paws as Afrit runs up from behind you onto the porch; without warning, she shakes, scattering dog-scented raindrops all over the front of you. You cry out, but in a good-humored, exasperated sort of way. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Afrit!” Ifan calls from behind you. He pads up on near silent feet, aside from the squelch of rainwater in his boots. He’s got an amused smirk on his lips, though his eyes regard you sheepishly, as he </span>
  <em>
    <span>shoos </span>
  </em>
  <span>the wolf farther down the porch. She gives another momentous shake of her fur, before unceremoniously laying down in a heap. “Sorry about that,” Ifan says, his voice a raspy baritone. “She never did learn manners.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It doesn’t bother me so much,” you say with a quirk of your mouth. Now that you’ve stopped walking, you’re aware of how cold you are, and you rub your arms fruitlessly. “Though for your sake, now I smell like wet dog.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ve smelled you covered in much worse. Voidwoken goo, for one.” At your expression he adds amusedly, “I don’t mind, you know.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He buries you with a green-eyed stare that brings heat to your face and makes you clear your throat. “Where are we, by the way?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“An old hideout I used to share with a Lone Wolf comrade of mine. It’s a hunting lodge. Officially.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It had taken you an hour’s walk through woodland from the nearest town to get here. The rain had started halfway through, and didn’t look to be slowing down anytime soon. If the downpour made you laugh, Ifan minded it even less. The color is high on his cheeks, and he seems more invigorated, more alive than you’ve seen him in some time; being in the woods seems to do that to him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Might we be—interrupted by mercenary business, then?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Not likely. He’s dead.”    </span>
</p><p>
  <span>You decide to skip over any meaning that might be behind those words. “It’s going to be all crossbow bolts and spent drudanae pipes in there, isn’t it?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ifan gives a throaty chuckle and fishes out a key from the many chains around his neck. He slips it into the thick-banded padlock on the door, the size of a dwarven fist, and it pops open with a satisfying snap. “See for yourself.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He presses the door open and you step inside, all dripping edges and foggy breath. It’s a small place—only one room—but the density of the log walls lends an immediate sense of security and warmth, in spite of the wet chill in the air. A bed in one corner is laid over with furs, and there’s more spread on the floor before a rough-stone hearth, black in the firebrick, but looking as though nothing has burnt there in ages. The cabin smells a little dusty and unlived in, but it’s nothing that an open door and little time wouldn’t sort out. A cast iron cooking stove stands against one wall, and a hearty stack of firewood had been left piled beside it by whoever was here last, perhaps Ifan himself. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Taking it all in, you are filled with a sudden and immense feeling of calm and relief: in the months since you released Divinity into the world, ushering in a new age of Sourcery for every man, woman, and child, you have been at the frontlines of the fight against the Godking. Since Fort Joy, it has been a life on the road and on the sea, and more often than not, a life in battle. You would not have had it any other way, but all the same, moments of privacy and respite have been few and far between. Now, with the Void pushed back—more and more everyday—the new and relative peace has yet to sink in. You get a taste of it here. Now. Finally. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>You drop your heavy pack to the floor with a sigh; you place your weapon on a rack by the door, intended just for that purpose, a soft smile on your lips. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ifan is a shadow in the doorway behind you, “I can’t promise there’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>no </span>
  </em>
  <span>empty drudanae pipes lying around, but—” You turn to him, and he stops when he sees the look on your face. His eyes soften, and he reaches out, laying a hand on your cheek. His glove is damp and smelling of leather, his fingers rough and warm. “Why don’t you relax? I’ll get us settled in.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>You accept the invitation wholeheartedly; you’re aware of how pleasantly tired your body is from the hike, and how unpleasantly damp and chilly your clothes are; you’re shivering and the air puffs with your breath. Ifan strides inside, leaving the door open behind him, and the tree-line is a haze of misty green in the rain. The scent of fresh, damp earth and evergreen wafts in on the breeze, and the steady rainfall enshrouds all other sound. You are all alone out here, and that in itself is new.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>As Ifan busies himself arranging wood and kindling in the hearth, you kick off your boots, and peel off your soaked clothes, hanging them on hooks upon the wall; they patter drops on the hardwood. Nude, the wind from the open door caresses your skin, sending goose marks over your belly, but the coolness is refreshing in its own right, like it's clearing out all your cobwebs, along with the stale air in the room. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>You feel Ifan’s eyes on you, rather than see him, like you’re the focus of a sudden heat, or intensity. In two long strides, he’s standing before you, but you're surprised when, instead of wrapping you in his arms, he gently settles a pelt over your shoulders; the fur is feather-soft on your back, and you’re immediately warmer. The front of you is still bare, bathed in the pale gray light from the open door, and he thoughtfully runs a thumb over your breast. If you’re not mistaken, you hear a low growl escape from his throat. You close the gap between you, and his wet clothes are chilly against your skin. A rough hand goes to your jaw as he leans down to kiss you, and you are dizzy with the want and passion of that kiss. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He lets you go unwillingly. “I should get this fire started first.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It could wait,” you suggest coyly, running your fingers through his sodden hair.   </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He turns his head slightly, so that he brushes a kiss on the inside of your wrist. “You’re freezing, love. And so am I.” He quirks a smile at your enthusiasm, and his eyes are embers, trained on your own. “Just one more moment.” He slides a hand down your back, down your rump, and his fingers brush momentarily against your wetness—unhelpfully—before he walks away from you, a damnable, mischievous grin on his face. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>You sigh and turn to watch the rain, feeling the softness of the pelt on your shoulders, and basking in the peace and solitude of this place. Afrit is solidly asleep on the porch, expended after a hike which saw her bounding joyfully through the underbrush, and her tail thumps occasionally in some dream. It’s the longest time you and Ifan will have been alone together, truly alone, since the fighting against the Void began. Before you left for this sojourn, he had said he wanted to speak to you about something important; the weight in his voice had been evident, and the hesitancy, too. It’s high time for you to talk about where you will go, and what you will do, next. He knows how much you care for him, and after all you’ve been through, how dedicated you are to each other—why the hesitancy?  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The crackle of kindling gets your attention, and you turn back inside, closing the door behind you. The room now smells only of the rain, and of freshly burning firewood. You pad up to the hearth, grateful for the fire now that it's here. You put your hands up to the warmth, feeling it radiate on your palms and bare belly. Your hair drips a rivulet of water down your breast, and you squeeze your locks out over the hearthstones, sending waterdrops sizzling on the logs. You turn, looking for Ifan, and you see him watching you, having paused halfway through removing his boots. The wooden walls cradle his voice as he speaks, “You’re beautiful, you know.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>You open your arms toward him, and he hurriedly removes his other boot. He peels off his shirt with lightning deftness, and you don’t bother to suppress a laugh as he inelegantly kicks off his pants and leaves them all in a heap by the door. You're struck by the sudden nudity of him, how he looks without fabric, armor, boots, breaking the fluid lines of his frame: he’s all lean power, thoughtless in his musculature. Scars catch shadows in the firelight, and dark hair frames a face intent on you. He walks quickly to you on bare feet, only rings and necklaces remain glinting on his body, and he catches your face in his hands. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He tips your jaw toward him and kisses you fiercely. You drop the pelt from your shoulders; it pools at your feet, and you feel the heat of the fire on your back. His kiss has left you almost gasping, and a rough palm traces down your spine, pressing you to him. You smell the salty musk of his skin, undercut by leather, and the soft, animal scent of his beard. His hand continues down, and two fingers press against where you’re already damp, like he’s picking up on unfinished business. You gasp against his mouth, and he smiles against yours, as he begins to knead his fingers against you, into you. You feel the heat rising in your cheeks, your eyelids growing heavy lidded, and your mouth soft and pliant to his tongue. A rumble emits from his throat as you respond to his touch, and you grasp a fistful of his hair, as if to hold on. He coils his free arm solidly around your waist, and it’s iron strength bolsters you. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Motes of Source are now dancing around you, little arcs of it bouncing off your body; it’s been too long since you were alone, since you were able to be this way together. You make a small noise of protest as he removes his fingers from you, followed by a tight gasp of pleasure when he begins massaging your clit instead. At this point, it’s a relief he’s holding you, because your knees start to go soft. He doesn’t stop, and you dig a deeper fistful of his hair, as your breath starts to hitch. He holds you tightly, his breath hot on your ear, as you lose yourself to his touch. Source starbursts in the darkness behind your eyes, and when you open them again, Ifan’s head is crowned with lights. “Ifan—” you manage to bite out. “Take me now.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He does not need to be told twice. With a grunt, he picks you up bodily and deposits you onto the pelt-covered bed. You only have a moment to wonder why he didn’t simply pull you down to the floor before he flips you onto your belly and hitches your hips toward him. He tests you by slipping two fingers into you; you squirm against them and gasp. He leans down to your ear, lips brushing your hair as he stands over you, “Ready?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>In answer, you knit your fingers through his, and bring his knuckle to your lips for a kiss. He thrusts into you all at once, and you cry out: you’re tight around him. It's been too long since you made love. Ifan gives a low growl in your ear, and you can feel the heat of his breath on your cheek, his desire for you, like his whole body is a too-taut mandolin string. One of his hands reaches out grips your forearm, pressing it hard into the bed, and he begins to move in you, slowly at first, mindful of your tightness. Gradually, you soften to his thrusts, and your mouth parts with helpless gasps, spittle dampening the fur beneath your lips. Responding to your opening, he begins to move faster in you, deeper. You hear his breath tighten, feel the heat radiating off of his body. You sigh as he lays kisses up and down your back: you’re feeling sensitive and undone. You’re beginning to lose yourself again. Sensing this, he grips your arm harder, pushing you into the nest of pelts as he grinds into you. He presses his lips against your neck and growls out your name, and all at once, you come for him again, the syllables still vibrating on your skin. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>When you return to yourself, you’re breathless; the pelt is wet against your parted lips, soft against your belly and breasts. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“My love,” he says, voice sultry with affection. “Light of my life.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He begins to move in you again, harder and faster, chasing down his own desire. Calloused hands move down your arms and grasp below each wrist; he pins them beside your head in an iron grip. He feels wild and animalistic above you, barely contained. Lightning arcs between your bodies, and the storm drums in your ears. Heat rises in your face, and you let out a desperate moan: suddenly, you need him to come in you, to claim you for himself once again. He thrusts hard into you and roars loud—your body buzzes with the sound of it—and he fills you with him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>You lay together for a moment, both panting and shuddering. He lays a sloppy kiss on your cheek, “I’ve been thinking about doing that for days.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>You smile, one eye cracking open at him from the bed: sparks of Source sizzle off his shoulders without sound. His eyes are bright, and he’s smiling wolfishly at you. “I’m surprised you had the wherewithal to make the fire.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He chuckles. “What can I say? You make me want to be a better man.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He lays several more kisses on your back, before he slips out of you, and helps you to your feet. You need the strength of his arms to do it; your knees are soft and your legs are shaky. The room is pleasantly warm now, with the fire crackling happily in the hearth, and it's plenty comfortable to be nude in. Outside, the rain is falling heavily, and it hammers against the windows; at some point during all that, it turned into a downpour. Little motes of Source float and crackle about the room, dissipating slowly after you generated them together. You stand like that for a moment, with his arms wrapped around you, recovering yourselves.    </span>
</p><p>
  <span>After a time, you retrieve two wooden cups and a bottle of wine from your pack—when you purchased it, you had imagined drinking it </span>
  <em>
    <span>before </span>
  </em>
  <span>making love, but that doesn’t really matter—and you settle down together before the fire. You share a comfortable silence, watching the embers glow and listening to the rain. Ifan runs his fingers along your thigh, absently, as he sips his wine, his eyes reflecting the flames. Sweat shimmers among the hair on his chest, and his muscled frame is languid and comfortable, stretched out on the pelts. He sees you looking at him and cocks an eyebrow. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m curious,” you say, “what was it you wanted to talk to me about?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His body tenses; it’s almost imperceptible, but you know him well. Cagily, he glances back toward the flames. “It’s about...what I want to do next.” He locks eyes with you again, and there’s an intensity there, “What we want to do next.”      </span>
</p><p>
  <span>You sit up a little straighter. “I’m listening.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ve heard rumors that the elves are clearing away the Deathfog, now that the fighting with the Void has died down.” He pauses, and you haven’t heard this sheepishness in his voice in sometime. “I’d like to help them replant the forests. I—I feel I have to do something. </span>
  <em>
    <span>More</span>
  </em>
  <span>.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Something more than kill Alexander and Lucien, you intuit.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>You reach out and touch his hand; you know how much killing those hands have done. Sometimes, you’ve stood by and condoned it. Your heart still aches when you think of all he’s lived with, and you’ve wondered before if vengeance wouldn’t be enough to bring him peace. “I’d understand,” he continues, “if that’s not the life you want. The Deathfog isn’t your burden to bear; it’s mine. But this…it’s something I feel I have to do.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Rain fills the silence as you search for the right words. “You’ve been afraid to tell me.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You...you’re my everything. I never want to lose you. But I can’t ask this of you, either. It’s not your mistake to make up for.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>You pick up his hand, and lay it on your chest, closing your eyes. Emotion is radiating off him in waves; you can feel it vibrating the air with a tremulous kind of heat. You’ve been through so much together; you’ve made choices that have changed the world. But, at the same time, you were placed there by forces out of your control, forced to make impossible decisions under impossible circumstances, and somehow, you’d come out of it together. Whole. Now, the time for force is over. Desperation is at an end. The new world is here, and it’s open to you both to decide whatever you wish. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>You think about his killer’s hands—and you think about your own. How much destruction have </span>
  <em>
    <span>you </span>
  </em>
  <span>wrought? Often in self-defence, often with little alternative, often simply because you were at war, and because you were simply trying to survive, but destruction nonetheless. You might not be seeking atonement, but the thought of using your hands for creation—for </span>
  <em>
    <span>life</span>
  </em>
  <span>—makes you breathe a sigh of deep relief. The thought of </span>
  <em>
    <span>Ifan </span>
  </em>
  <span>doing it makes you smile; you want to know who he is when he’s finally free to be all he can. You think about damp earth: about green, growing things, about animals, and about the sun. You open your eyes, and Ifan is searching your face, as nervous as a caged wolf. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I want to come with you,” you say. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Relief floods his features, and he cups a hand to your cheek. “Are you certain? Life out under the stars isn’t for everyone.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“If you doubt me so much, then you haven't been paying attention.” You smile ruefully, “Besides, after Arx, I don’t know if I ever want to step foot in a city again.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He barks a laugh, “Me, neither.” His sheepish smile returns. “And, it’s not forever. When we’re done, we could settle down….” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Somewhere like this?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The smile that cracks over his face is beatific. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>You open your arms to him, and he accepts your embrace, tenderly. “Thank you,” he says, “for everything. You’ve been...you are…” He doesn’t finish, because you lay a kiss on his lips. He responds to you fervently, drinking you down like you’re sweet. You tip your head back, and he cradles it in his hands, kissing you slowly down the column of your neck. This time, he does simply lower you to the floor, and you feel like something precious in his arms as he makes love to you. Outside, the rain falls on the trees, and you bask in the prospect of a life of peace, like it’s a tender sprout in both your hands.  </span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Hope you enjoyed! Thanks for reading!</p><p>I loved playing this game so much, I felt I needed to give these characters a proper sendoff in the form of an epilogue. Let me know how you liked Ifan's characterization, and if you think there should be any additional tags on this fic.</p><p>For anyone wondering...yes, that refilled their Source points ;)</p></blockquote></div></div>
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